


Parrot

by lmeden



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-08
Updated: 2012-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-29 04:26:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/315804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lmeden/pseuds/lmeden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She would always remember the house with the red door, which she had called home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Parrot

**Author's Note:**

> For appleindecay, because you are a lovely friend you asked, I believe, for fic.

She is a cat. She is silent and slow, creeping carefully across the tiled roof. She hooks her fingers around the curves of the dried clay and pulls herself upward towards where the birds roost.

A few eye her suspiciously, so Dany slows her movements to a sinuous crawl. She stops as they chirp and begin to shift, the bright red and orange of their feathers flaring in the sunlight. She waits.

Then, without any warning, because she hasn’t _done_ anything, the parrots leap from the rooftops, flaring their wings to catch the air. A few bank to the side, straight towards Dany; eyes wide and lips parted, she flinches back.

Her fingers slip from the tiles and she scrambles, begins to roll down the slope of the roof, tiles digging into her sides. She tucks her arms in, clamps her legs tight together, and hopes wildly that she will land in the garden and not on the cobbled street.

With one last tumble, she falls free of the roof completely and all her muscles tighten is abject denial that does absolutely nothing to halt her fall before something, abruptly, does. It takes her a long moment to register that she is lying on her side, body limp and fingers curled in from of her. She wheezes a great gasp and coughs, biting her lip hard to keep from choking. She tries again, more softly, and manages to get in an entire breath. Something inside her uncoils.

 _Oh, no._ She’ll be found. Likely Viserys, because her luck has always been poor. He’ll step on her before he realizes that she is lying in the street and cannot move, and then he’ll be so surprised that he will pick her up and carry her inside before he has time to get angry. And then, of course, he will get very angry.

She will curl up and into the pillows by the window and let Viserys yell, as he always does, about their family name, honor, and duty, and how she could be so _stupid_. And she understands, truly she does. She wants to honor the family name and life up to her brother’s expectations. She is trying, too. She is obedient and well mannered, and she listens to all Viserys’ stories about the family and the war. She knows how to be good and she _is_ good, all the time.

It was only that…well, she had wanted to see the parrots. That wasn’t a bad thing at all. If the damned birds hadn’t decided to fly at just that moment there wouldn’t have been any problem at all.

Dany feels the prick of tears in her eyes and realizes that if she bites down on her lip any harder, she might bite through it and that would be truly impossible to hide. She needs to get out of here before Viserys comes, even if it means dragging herself through the streets.

She feels a chill run through her as she realizes that she hasn’t tried her legs. Can she still use them? What has she broken? She’s only nine, her life can’t end like this. Dany’s fingers curl across hard stone and carefully, slowly, she pushes herself up to sitting.

She isn’t on the street at all! Dany looks around (easily, because her neck feels fine) at the railing surrounding her and the second floor windows of the house next door and just out of reach. She’s on the balcony of her own house. Dany’s heart leaps with joy – this isn’t at all as bad as she’d feared. She might be able to keep her fall a secret after all.

She grins and begins to laugh, then clutches at her ribs as a jolt of pain runs through her. She will not be able to hide all the evidence. Hopefully she hasn’t broken anything. Dany grasps the railing and hauls herself up to her feet. The world tilts around and she looks up, smiling at the roof tiles just above. Not bad at all.

-|-

The halls are silent, but it is a small house, so Dany can still hear the laughter of the servants in the courtyard out back. She wonders what is so funny. Probably best that she doesn’t know, because she has to be quiet and secret right now. No laughing allowed.

The cold stones of the floor make her feet ache, especially her right foot, which she thinks she might have landed on. The bones of her ankle throb with every step, but she swallows and pushes the pain back, forcing her gait to seem normal and unhindered. Just in case. She slows as she near the front on the house and leans through a doorway to peer down the hall.

At the very end, the red door is closed. It’s crimson paint gleams in the oblique afternoon light. She watches it for a moment to see if anyone is coming in from the street (especially Viserys), but it doesn’t move, so she darts across the open space towards the kitchen. She needs something cold for her bruises to make them disappear.

She runs across the kitchen when she spies a tall bucket sitting by the outside door and hopefully pulls the top off of it. She smiles gleefully as she sees what it contains. Fish for tonight’s dinner, sitting atop mounds of ice. She reaches in and grasps the fish to move it, but it slips away from her fingers, slapping onto the floor.

Dany flinches before reaching into the bucket and scooping up some of the ice. She needs a lot of the ice, but how will she carry it? She frowns.

Then she dumps the ice back in the bucket and reaches up, pulling her soft dress over her head. She is wearing nothing now, so she’ll have to be quick and get back to her room before the servants come in.

She lays out her dress and begins pulling handfuls of ice out, dumping them onto the skirt and immediately staining it darker. Once she has a large enough piles beginning to melt before her eyes, Dany grasps the fish and flings it back into the bucket. She has halfway slid the top back on when one of the servants laughs particularly loudly and she freezes, chill bumps rising all up and down her arms and legs.

The sound fades and Dany tentatively shifts the top of the bucket fully on. She dives down, scoops the dress and ice into her arms and, cradling the whole mess, scampers through the house and up the steps to her room.

-|-

Much later Dany feels someone come into her bedroom and shift the wet blankets around her; still cool from where she had packed all of that ice against her skin. A hot hand brushes her hair back from her forehead and Dany murmurs but doesn’t open her eyes. She is so tired, very tired, and she curls tighter, slipping back into a dreamless and painless nap.

-|-

“Come now, my lady, time to be up,” barks a strident voice. It cuts through Dany’s dreams of something, oh now it has slipped away, and drags her up out of sleep. She frowns and pushes herself upright, shoving a tangle of hair out of her eyes.

Blearily, she looks up at Maery, whose red cheeks seem redder than ever today. The servant reaches for Dany and hauls her out of bed by an arm, leading her stumbling across the floor.

“Hey,” Dany yelps, surprised at the roughness, “You can’t do that. My brother won’t allow it; you know he’ll be angry if he finds out. I’ll tell him. And Ser Willem. He won’t be happy either.”

The woman just huffs and Dany scowls at her back. As she rummages through the wardrobe Dany glance glances quickly down at her side – a bit red, but nothing bad, no bruises that she can see at all. She can’t help a smile, she is so relieved. She even manages to grin at Maery when she turns round holding a silk dress.

Dany reaches out and pulls the dress from her hands, tossing it over her head and letting it slither down her body until it is in place.

“Is my brother returned?” she asks. It has already been three nights that he has been out. Dany has never known him to be gone so long.

“Not as I know,” the woman growls. Dany has long since stopped taking her gruffness seriously, even if it does seem harsher than normal today. It’s just the way she is.

Dany’s smile fades a bit at the news and she walks over to the mirror. Maery follows her and begins to work on the tangled mass that is her hair. Dany adjusts the dress. It is a deep violet, bright and dark all at once. She plays with the skirt, enjoying how it flares in the light. She tugs at the top of it, making it even on each side, and Maery sends smooth, unknotted strands of silver hair down over her shoulders.

Dany smiles at herself, but it looks odd, awkward. So she frowns instead, then scowls fully, a huge snarl crossing her face.

“Stop that,” Maery snaps, and smacks her upside the head.

Dany yanks away from her and whirls, glaring as viciously as she is able. “I will tell my brother how cruel you’re being. And if I can’t tell him, I’ll tell Ser Willem.”

She shoves past the servant and out into the hall, patting her disheveled hair down and gliding down the stairs, graceful in her fury.

-|-

Ser Willem isn’t at dinner, and neither is Viserys, so Dany eats alone.

For long moments she stares down at the fish on her plate – skin blackened and shriveled, dead eyes looking back at her – until she can finally force herself begin pulling the fish apart. She isn’t hungry. She’s sad.

She wants her brother to be here so that he can tell her stories about the ridiculous people he saw on the street today, so that he can correct her posture and snarl at the servants. She loves it when Viserys gets angry with someone else. It always makes her feel so proud and she wants to cry, _That man, he is my brother, isn’t he amazing?_ She doesn’t.

There is no one else in the dining room to see her eat, refill her glass, or correct the way she shoves fish into her mouth. She can’t even hear the servants. She swallows and wipes her fingers on the cloth laid by her plate. Something is wrong.

Dany folds her hands in her lap and leans backing, listening. It is so quiet. There is the soft sound of conversations and footsteps from the street out front. She hears steps on the floor above her and the creak of a door swinging on its hinges.

She finds herself not breathing, going very still as she listens.

 _Bang!_

Dany shrieks and her body jolts, eyes flying wide. She looks around but sees nothing; trembling she begins to stand. Her brother storms into the room, hair wild and sweat upon his forehead. His gaze flies unerringly to Dany.

She tries to smile. “Viserys, where have you been?” she asks, and walks around the corner of the table towards him, still shaking. She sees a snarl cross his face and stops dead, fingering the edge of the table and wondering what has happened, and if this is one of the nights when she should run.

But Viserys does not lash out. He says in a tight voice, his gaze wide and fierce upon her, “I have been with Ser Willem.”

Dany frowns. _Why?_ She even opens her mouth to ask, but stops as she glances over Viserys’ shoulder and sees the servant coming into the dining room one by one. The tall, hawk-eyed cook comes first. Dany thinks that her name is Lys, but she isn’t sure.

Viserys must have seen her look, because he whirls. The woman, Lys, stares at him evenly and says, “Welcome back, my lord.”

Viserys’ chin twitches higher and he says, indignation vibrating through him. “I am not _your lord_. I am your king and you will address me as such. _Your Grace_ is the proper title, and I should not have to remind you of that!” His voice cracks like a whip at the end, and Dany flinches. None of the servants do.

One of them, a shorter man, steps forward. Dany has seen him before but doesn’t know who he is. “Your Grace, we have heard rumors. If you could please tell us whether they are true…” He trails off and bows his head, but the other servants fix watchful gazes on Viserys.

Dany reaches out towards her brother, then stops and pulls her hand back to her side.

“The rumors are true,” Viserys says, and reaction ripples through the servants. They glance at each other. One or two nod, and one in the back begins to say, “We can’t—“ before she is stopped by the others.

Lys turns back to Viserys, and as her gaze moves over Dany it softens, just for an instant. Then she straightens, takes in a deep breath, and says, “You cannot stay.”

Viserys goes very, very still, and Dany knows that she should have run several moments ago.

“What?” he asks, dangerously soft.

“You can’t stay, Viserys,” she repeats. “You have until sundown to gather your things and get out, else we will throw you into the street.”

“How dare you?” Her brother hisses. He turns away from the servant and leans over the table, looking for something. His head swivels towards Dany’s plate and he moves toward them, shoving Dany out of the way so hard she stumbles and hits the wall. Her vision spins and she shakes her head to clear it.

When she can see clearly again, Dany watches in horror as her brother moves toward the servants, fist clenched around the knife Dany had been eating with.

“I am your king!” he cries, and Dany thinks that only she can see the tears in his eyes. Everything is happening so fast. He lunges forward, knife raised over his head, and then skids to a halt as one of the gardeners lifts a large metal rake over the shoulders of the other servants, pointing the sharp tines directly at Viserys’ face.

“No!” Dany cries and rushes forward. She steps between Viserys and the servants and lifts her chin. “Why do we have to leave? What’s happened?” Her voice cracks and her vision swims, but she doesn’t budge.

“I am sorry, my lady,” Lys says. “But you have to leave. Ser Willem is dead, and we are not safe here anymore. You and your brother will bring the dogs down upon us. You must leave.”

“But—“ Dany says, and is horrified to feel tears spilling down her cheeks. How can they leave their home?

Lys falls to her knees in front of Dany and uses the corner of her apron to wipe her tears away. Dany stares at her, pleading silently for her to say something else, for her to let them stay. She does not. Her sharp brown eyes are soft as she says, “Go upstairs, Daenerys. Gather everything that you and your brother can carry and bring it back down.” Her gaze drifts up to Viserys, and back to Dany. “We will keep your brother here, for now.”

Dany bites her lip, then nods and pushes past the servants, runs through the halls and up to her room. Once there she cries herself dizzy for a few moments before she can gather the strength to grab a few of her most lovely dresses and jewelry. She drags it all to her brother’s room and takes some of his clothes, too, taking the time to carefully wrap his crown and place it on top of the pile. She is struggling to get the clothes and jewels through the door of Viserys’ room when she stops dead, confronted by Maery standing at the top of the stairs.

She walks forward and Dany draws herself up, prepared to fight. But the woman simply crouches and places a large fabric bag between them. Maery opens it at the top and begins lifting the clothes and jewelry, placing them inside. After a moment, Dany helps, and then everything is packed away, hidden. Maery lays a soft hand on Dany’s shoulder before stepping away.

Dany pulls the bag down the stairs alone, feet tangling in her horrible dress and vision blurring once again; her last view of the inside of her home is washed away by her tears.

-|-

Viserys pulls her down the street, his grip cruel on her arm, but Dany doesn’t cry out. She is too busy looking backwards towards their home, lost to her; she cannot find it. The red door, which she always loved, is not red on the outside. It is brown like all the other houses, and now she cannot tell which one is theirs.

The streets are crowded and Dany is jostled from side to side as Viserys carries her along like the bag now slung over his shoulder, she just another possession.

It is only later: When Viserys is beating her for not helping him fight, for crying until her face swelled up, for bringing only the most impractical of things, Dany remembers her fall from the rooftops and realizes that a few bruises mean nothing at all.

It is only much later: As they walk along the docks, Viserys selling one of Dany’s dresses after another as bribes so that they can get onto a ship going somewhere, anywhere, and as Dany’s own dress rapidly gains more and more tears and the color fades from it, that Dany realizes that she will never find her home again, and begins to weep once more.

It is only years later: When Dany holds her head high in front of Illyrio’s hungry gaze and Viserys’ words have become wheedling, pleading things, that she realizes that she has never had a home. It was taken from her before she was even born, in a terrible storm, and Dany knows that the only way to regain what she has lost is to take it back.

Right now, though, Dany’s tears dry up for an instant. She glances back one last time; she still cannot find the red door, but instead she looks up and sees the parrots, bright and red and gold like fire. At her glance they leap from the rooftop in an explosion Dany can hear the wing beats of even here. She tries to fly upwards with them, envies them as they vanish into the gloaming.

She cannot.

-|- End


End file.
